She shook her head, her face bloodless with shock. Michael’s hold on her tightened, his big hands gripping her shoulders. Heck, she was thin. He’d never really noticed that before. In a detached sort of way—the way he saw most people—he’d noticed her pregnancy but not the frailness of her body beneath it.
With her green eyes huge in her pale face, and her mass of dark brown curls shoved from her face in terror…
She was really quite beautiful, he thought suddenly, holding her against him. Funny how he’d never noticed that until now.
Her terror wasn’t subsiding, though. Once again, Michael turned to stare at the gray-suited visitors. They’d entered Jenny’s office and were inspecting her desk. One reached over and opened her drawer, rifling through her belongings.
Michael’s jaw set in anger. They had no right to be searching the place. He was half inclined to throw open the door and demand to know what they thought they were doing, but Jenny’s terror stopped him. He hit the one-way intercom on his desk so he could hear what they were saying, then turned to Jenny.
“The door’s locked,” he said quietly, trying to allay her shuddering fear. “They can’t hear us, they can’t see us and they can’t get in. There’s no way someone can get in here short of using dynamite.”
“They’ll wait. Gloria must have put them onto me. Now they know. I have to leave—now!”
What on earth was going on? Who the heck was Gloria?
Michael didn’t have a clue. He could only wait until she was calm enough to tell him. He put his arms around her shoulders and drew her against him, restraining her urge to dash for the back door. She was so darned small, five four or so compared with his six foot. He’d hardly noticed her in the past few months, apart from being grateful he’d finally found someone efficient to run his office. How could he not have noticed how pregnant—and how lovely—she was?
There was a thumping on his door as the men turned their attention from Jenny’s desk to his inner sanctum. From outside the room, the walls looked like mirrored glass. They’d see nothing and they’d hear nothing.
“Is anyone in there? Mr. Lord, could you come out please? We need to speak to you.” The voice of the older of the men seemed accustomed to command. The two of them looked annoyed, but nothing more. This wasn’t a pair of menacing thugs. There wasn’t a gun in sight.
More knocking, exasperated this time. They were bureaucrats, Michael thought. So what on earth was Jenny scared of?
And then there was a female voice, and Michael sighed with relief as he saw Ellie enter Jenny’s office. Ellie Maitland was the hospital administrator and the only person who’d know the security screens and bolts had come down in his office. A small red light would have flashed on her desk as the screens dropped. She’d figure that for some unknown reason Michael was in trouble or else there’d been a mistake, but Ellie wasn’t the sort to assume he’d made a mistake without checking.
She should have telephoned, Michael thought grimly, instead of coming, but the gray-suited visitors didn’t look physically threatening. Ellie certainly didn’t think they did.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?”
She cast a flickering glance at Jenny’s desk, and Michael knew she’d noticed the opened drawer and the shifted jumble of papers on the desktop. She’d be puzzled, trying to figure out what was going on, but nothing of that was sounding in her voice.
“We’re here to see Mrs. Morrow,” the older suit said.
“Mrs….” There was a trace of uncertainty in Ellie’s voice, as if she was trying to place the name—which she wouldn’t be. Ellie knew the names of every one of her staff members and every detail of their lives, right down to what they’d had for breakfast that morning. Her uncertainty was assumed, buying time. Finally her voice cleared. “Oh, you mean Mr. Lord’s secretary, Jenny.”
“That’s right.” The voice was in no mood for hesitation. “Where is she?”
Silence. Michael couldn’t suppress a grin as Ellie gazed around the outer office with helpful and entirely assumed stupidity.
“She doesn’t seem to be here.”
“Can you open the inner office, please?”
“It’s the office of our security chief,” she apologized. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I don’t have authorization. Isn’t Mr. Lord inside?”
“He’s not answering, and we need to check. We’re from the Department of Immigration.” There was a pause as two ID cards were produced. In Michael’s arms, Jenny quivered once and was still. “Open, please.”
“I still can’t do that,” Ellie said apologetically. “Unless you people have a warrant.”
“We don’t have a warrant.”
“Has Mr. Lord done something illegal?”
“No. It’s Mrs. Morrow we’re interested in.”
“But she’s not here.” Once more, her tone conveyed helpful stupidity.
“She may be in with Mr. Lord.”
“If Michael was in his office then he’d answer the door.”
“Not if he was hiding someone.”
“Why on earth would he be hiding someone?” Ellie asked, exasperated. “Hiding Jenny, do you mean? Why would he be doing that? She’s been sitting out here for all the world to see for the past few months. She’s probably just gone to the ladies’ room. If you people would care to wait, there’s a coffee shop down the hall.”
“Contact Lord,” the older suit ordered.
Ellie visibly stiffened. “I beg your pardon.”
“If he’s your security chief, then you can contact him,” the man said brusquely. “Surely.”
“Of course I can contact him.”
“Do it.”
Ellie practically bristled, and once more Michael had to suppress a grin. Jenny was still struggling in an attempt to reach the back door, as if the men could burst in any minute, but there was no chance of that. Ellie might have a key to his office on the bunch at her waist, but by their rudeness, Jenny had just gained herself a powerful ally. Once annoyed, Ellie was one mean opponent.
But Ellie didn’t refuse to contact him. She gazed at the two men for a long, considering moment, then raised the cell phone at her belt. She dialed, and the phone on Michael’s hip vibrated.
“Shh. It’s okay. They can’t hear us. But stay right here! That’s an order.” He put a hand on Jenny’s hair in reassurance and gently moved her away from him, then pressed her into the chair by his desk. He fixed her with a look, waited until he was sure she wouldn’t argue, and then he pushed the response button on his phone.
“Yes?”
“Michael?”
“I’m
